


ren heads off; hux hates him.

by orphan_account



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Drabble Collection, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-16 09:20:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7262182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>kylux in varying degrees. multiple drabbles posted originally on tumblr</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. first time

**Author's Note:**

> someone asked for these to be posted here as well as on my blog + i always do as i'm told so!! enjoy xxx

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> canonverse first time, ft. crylo-kylo + oblivious hux.

He’s meant to have said it by now. Hux is pulling him along the _Finalizer’s_ corridors with his hand gripped tightly around Ren’s forearm, his pupils blown wide and a flush high on his cheeks. They’ve built toward this for a long time, too long, and he can feel the frustration and hot impatience pouring off of Hux, but.

 

 _It’s just. I’ve never._ He is twenty-nine years old, and _I haven’t, not ever,_ and he’s not sure how to say it. He’s putting it off. He can’t bear to be the butt of anyone’s joke.

 

And Hux will surely laugh.

 

The pace of Hux’s step has quickened; they’re nearing his private quarters. If he doesn’t say it now, it’ll be too late. This would be so much easier if Hux could read the truth in Ren’s mind— he curses the general silently, as if his lack of Force-sensitivity is his own fault.

 

The door panel is accessed with fumbling fingers. Hux gets the code wrong twice before it slides open. Maybe he’s nervous, too, Ren thinks, prodding hopefully at his mind as he sweeps past the threshold, glancing over his shoulder to make sure that Ren follows. Maybe— maybe _he’s_ never, either—

 

 _—get him on his fucking knees,_ Hux is thinking. S _ee what he can do with that pretty mouth, want him to choke on my cock want him to take it all the way to his throat want to shut him up with it—_

 

Ren can’t hold back the noise that escapes him. Almost a whine, entirely helpless, and Hux turns, blue shadows deepening the pale, colorless glint of his eyes.

 

“You’re in my head,” he says, voice low. “Aren’t you?”

 

Ren opens his mouth, closes it wordlessly, knowing the answer is already written on his face. Hux smiles, cold-eyed, and beckons him closer with a crook of his finger. Ren doesn’t have to read his mind now to find his thoughts, they’re laid out directly for him to hear: _I want you to suck me off. And then I want to sit on your cock, ride you hard while you watch._

 

“Hux,” says Ren, voice straining as Hux runs his hands up Ren’s chest, as Hux leans in to suck wet bruises into Ren’s neck. He’s already hard in his pants, he’s _been_ hard since Hux had bitten into his mouth in the storage room around the corner from the bridge. “Fuck, Hux, Hux—”

 

 _You won’t be allowed to touch me,_ he hears Hux think, his teeth sharp on Ren’s ear, shoving Ren back against the opposite wall, hands gripping his hair, twisting it tight in his fists, pulling. _I’ll be fucking myself on you and you’ll keep your hands to yourself, or I’ll stop. If you say a word other than my name I’ll stop. If you close your eyes I’ll stop. You’ll watch while I make you come, you’ll do everything I tell you to—_

 

He’s rocking his hips, fast and rhythmic, and Ren is rutting senselessly against him, his voice failing, giving way to high, frantic whimpers that don’t sound anything like him. His cheeks have flooded scarlet and the lights are already dimmed but not enough to coneal it; he wishes that he had his mask to hide behind, he wishes he had something, anything to hide behind, “Hux,” he blurts out, face and throat and chest burning, “Hux, please—”

 

“Yes,” breathes Hux, “yes, I know,” his hand is slotted between Ren’s thighs now. His fingers splay, feeling the length of him, rubbing against him, cupping him in his palm. “Oh hell, you’re big, you’re so big, you’re bloody gorgeous, you’re going to feel so good inside me, stars, I want you inside me—”

 

And hearing it aloud, straight from his lips, feeling the truth of it in his mind—

 

It’s overwhelming. It’s too much.It’s his vision, bursting into an explosion of white. And his head, slamming back against the wall, and the wetness spreading across his crotch, and a tangled, wordless mess of a moan jerked from his throat.

 

It’s Hux, going very still against him, nothing but their breathing filling the silent space between them.

 

“Ren,” says Hux at last, breath puffing against his jaw, sounding shocked. “Did you just—”

 

He doesn’t finish the question.

 

Ren gathers what little strength he has left and rips him back, the Force winding a tight vise around his throat, lifting him with his toes dragging along the floor.

 

 _“Ren!”_ Hux’s face contorts, his mouth wide and gasping. His cock is still straining against the front of his trousers, his feedback disconcerting, a jumble of anger and disbelief and excitement, “let go of me _,_ you absolute _child—”_

 

He does, but only because he’s too shaken to concentrate; Hux’s chest heaves as he’s released. He doesn’t move away, but he rubs at his neck carefully, staring at Ren like he’s gone mad.

 

Ren says nothing, sagging against the wall. His eyes are stinging, he can still feel himself feeding on the intoxication of Hux’s praise, even as he sinks into his own humiliation. He wants to call his lightsaber to him, to wreak furious havoc through the room. He wants to sink down and hug his knees to his chest, to hide his face in his hands, to press against his lids until he sees stars.

 

He wants to blame Hux; he wants to destroy Hux. He wants Hux to destroy him.

 

He wants to know what it’d be like, to curl up in Hux’s arms, and press his head to Hux’s chest, and hear Hux’s heartbeat, cradled under his ear.

 

“What the _fuck_ ,” Hux snaps, fingers still resting protectively at the hollow of his throat, anticipating whatever backlash he thinks is coming. “Ren, _what—”_

 

“I tried to—” stammers Ren, feeling— _everything._ Raw. Exposed, cut open. The come between his thighs is cooling, slick and uncomfortable against the warmth of his skin, and shame is swelling, an ocean inside of his chest. “I tried to tell you, you never listen—”

 

“Tell me?”

 

“You weren’t listening.”

 

“To _what?”_

 

Hux’s voice is blade-sharp; Ren struggles beneath it, words catching. “I never,” he tries to say. “I haven’t—”

 

Something seems to jolt behind Hux’s eyes, and align.

 

“Never,” repeats Ren, and despite his vain attempts to stem it, the prickling in his eyes wells to tears. “I never—”

 

“Oh,” Hux says, his face going slack, fists falling open at his sides, “oh, Ren, you  _fool—”_

 

And suddenly he is gentle, and gripping Ren’s arms as Ren’s legs wobble and shake and give way and send him sliding to the floor, and he’s following him down, crouching in front of him, cupping his face in his hands.

 

“Ren,” Hux says again, softly, thumbs stroking up to his cheekbones. “You should have said.”

 

“I tried to—”

 

“Yes, yes,” he sighs, shaking his head, pressing his lips to Ren’s forehead, his temple, over each of his closed eyes, like every brush of his mouth could find Ren’s center and right it again. “I didn’t listen, I know.”

 

Ren trembles underneath him, wet lashes sticking to his cheeks, hiccuping, tipping forward to hide his face in Hux’s shoulder. He’s utterly spent, exhausted, all at once, the rolling waves of rage and guilt draining in a rush, and Hux seems to know, seems to understand. His hands lift to stroke through Ren’s hair, his touch slow and soothing. “I didn’t mean to,” he says, muffled against Hux’s collar. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

 

“Hush,” murmurs Hux, a bit fondly. “You couldn’t help it, could you.” Ren turns his face up toward him, distraught, and Hux begins to push Ren’s heavy, sweat-soaked robes from his shoulders, and reaches to undo his belt.

 

“Hux,” says Ren, half a protest, half a plea, shuddering at the sympathy he doesn’t deserve. “I didn’t, I wasn’t— I wasn’t any good.”

 

“No,” Hux agrees, “you weren’t.”

 

He tilts his forehead against Ren’s even as Ren moves to shrug, shame-faced, away, presses a warm, open-mouthed kiss to his lips.

 

“But I’ll get you cleaned up,” he says. “And then, if you’d like— we’ll practice.”  

 


	2. holding hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> my nsfw take on a sfw prompt. canonverse.

**THREE TIMES HUX THOUGHT ABOUT REN’S HANDS + THE ONE TIME HE JUST THOUGHT ABOUT REN**

**i.**

 

They’ve taken a shuttle from the Finalizer to Starkiller and Ren is standing beside him, hulking and sullen as always, for no particular reason that Hux has been made aware of. Not that he cares to know the reason, either, as long as the Knight can keep his temper tamed and his lightsaber in its sheath. The cost of damage repairs is becoming unreasonable of late.

 

“I can’t find my gloves,” Ren says, voice crackling through his vocoder.

 

Hux’s lip twitches; he fights the urge to roll his eyes. “Did I ask?”

 

“Not aloud.”

 

“Please don’t,” Hux says tightly. “I was under the impression that we’d talked about—”

 

The shuttle rocks unexpectedly as they plunge through Starkiller’s atmosphere. The metal floor beneath him lurches. Suddenly the world is tipping sideways, and Hux is reeling, reaching out in blind hysteria to find purchase in the empty air.

 

He’s steadied before he can really begin to fall. A sure, steady pressure at his waist, his arm. _Ren,_ he thinks automatically, _must have caught me with his magic—_

 

But when he blinks the alarm from his eyes, it’s to find Ren’s right hand set firmly against the small of his back, the fingers of his left wrapped solidly around Hux’s wrist.

 

Based on their previous altercations, and the detestation between them, and every ounce of common sense that Hux prides himself in having, his first instinct should be to pull away.

 

It is not.

 

**ii.**

 

In his quarters on Starkiller he lies awake. Staring stupidly at the ceiling, stuck in a loop. Ren’s ungloved hands on his body. Long-fingered, callused. Faint scars along the knuckles. Hands that have known battle, and labor, and real work.

 

He thinks, foolishly enough, that he is safe from Ren’s prying, in the isolation of his own rooms. He wonders: what would it feel like, to have those hands on his bare skin?

 

Images come to him unbidden. Ren’s fingers in his mouth. Ghosting up his thighs. Encircling his waist. All the power in those hands. The potential Ren could give them— to be useful, rather than employing them, as he always does, in impractical destruction.

 

He brushes his own hands down his chest, across a nipple, beneath the waistband of his regulation sleepwear. Even as he strokes himself, eyes squeezed shut, the rise and fall of his chest a heaving, ragged pattern, he knows— his hands are too smooth. Too small. It isn’t the same. It isn’t enough.

 

 _Yes,_ he hears Ren purr, breathing disembodied words into his head, startling his eyes wide open, freezing his limbs motionless. _But it could be enough, couldn’t it? It would be better, if it really were me._

 

“Ren,” Hux says, the panic numbing. His hand is still stuffed down his pants, his heartbeat fraught and choking in his throat. He has to clear his throat to pitch his voice down again, sweat beading hot at his temple. “Ren, you— you have no right to—”

 

 _Unlock your door,_ says Ren, _I’ll come to you. I’ve found my gloves,_ he adds, and if his self-satisfied smirk wasn’t obvious in his tone before, it is overwhelmingly evident now. _But don’t worry. I’ll leave them off, for this._

 

**iii.**

 

Hux learns, rather quickly, that Ren has never once put his hands on another man's naked body in his entire life.

 

He also learns, just as quickly, that having a mind-reader as a bedmate makes up for most of the inexperience.

 

Ren’s palm is wide and warm around his cock, pumping fast, incessant. His free hand traces Hux’s ribs with coarse fingertips, mapping out the faint line of his sternum, the delicate swell of his belly. “So smooth,” Ren says. “And soft, you’re so soft.”

 

Hux’s breath hitches, those big hands holding him down, holding him. His head arcs back. He feels the edges of his self-control begin to fray, come apart at the edges.

 

“I’m not,” says Ren, tilting his head curiously. “Not soft. You, you like me because I’m not.”

 

“I don’t like you,” Hux hisses, hips thrusting up desperately, “I’ve never _liked_ you, I like what you’re _doing—”_

 

He only lasts a minute longer, with the way that Ren’s hand is twisting over his cock, the way he’s got the rough pad of his thumb pressing into his slit. Ren keeps somber black eyes fixed on Hux’s face as Hux spills over his hand; when he's stopped twitching through the aftershocks Hux extricates himself from Ren’s grip, still short of breath, and heads to the refresher to wipe himself down.

 

When he comes out, uncertainty weighing in his mind and an offer ready on his lips, Ren is gone.

 

**i.**

 

Starkiller vanishes into a devouring sphere of fire as they flee. Their shuttle blinks into hyperspace with the inferno threatening to overtake them.

 

Ren screams, and convulses, thrashing on the gurney they’ve attempted to strap him to. He knocks over med-droids, takes the doctors by their throats. Red is sticky in his hair, pours from his side. Blood is dripping over the table edge to the floor. Someone grabs Hux by the arm with a _General, sir, you should go—_

 

Hux fights his way to Ren’s side, instead. Takes Ren’s flailing hand in his own, clasps it tight in both of his.

 

Ren stills at once. Wild-eyed, unfocused.

 

“Ren,” says Hux.

 

“Hux.” His voice is hoarse, and broken. “Hux. I failed.”

 

Yes,” Hux says, “obviously. Now behave.”

 

Ren stays rigid, frozen. The doctors inch cautiously forward, eyes flickering between Ren, and Hux, and their intertwined fingers; the Knight stares at Hux with his mouth half-open, unblinking, needy. His grip on Hux’s hand tightens, every so often _—_ as though he’s making sure that Hux is still there.

 

“I wasn’t the one who left,” Hux murmurs, for his ears only.

 

_You wanted me to._

 

“Mm. Read that in my mind, did you?”

 

 _No,_ Ren says, struggling to understand. _But. You said _—__

 

“I said,” he huffs, and flushes. “Yes, well. You should have listened to what I didn’t.”

 

A heartbeat of a moment passes. And then a ghost of a smile presses up against the corners of Ren’s mouth, and he lets his gaze slide away from Hux, lets his eyes fall closed. The doctors dress the wound, shed their bloody gloves; the med-droids beep softly, whirring around them.

 

 _Will you stay,_ says Ren, thumb stroking haphazardly over the back of Hux’s hand.

 

Hux presses his lips to Ren’s knuckles, and doesn’t let go.

 


	3. kissing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Very Soft Kylux, high school au: seven seconds in heaven (spin the bottle + hope it doesn’t land on your crush)

 

It’s a stupid game. Hux hadn’t wanted to play, Hux hadn’t wanted to go to the party in the first place. It’s just as uneventful as he’d expected it’d be— Poe Dameron and his friends are so unbearably _square_. The kind of kids who post group selfies on their instagram with everyone smiling and laughing and kissing each other on the cheek. The kind of kids who sweep each other up in their arms in the hallway during passing period like they’ve been separated for years. The kind of kids Hux generally despises.

 

He isn’t sure why he was invited. So far they’ve played Twister, and watched three episodes of _My So-Called Life;_ there isn’t any booze and Hux isn’t allowed to smoke, either, because Jessika is asthmatic. It is, without a doubt, the worst way he has ever spent a Friday night.

 

The only reason he’s here at all is because Ben had begged.

 

Really, truly _begged_. The way he does when he really wants something. He’d done that thing, where he sticks his bottom lip out a little, and makes his eyes go big and dark, like chocolate melting over the stove. And he’d softened up his voice to something shy and he’d said, _there won’t be a reason to go, if you’re not there._

 

Stuff like that had used to make Hux feel like he was in charge.

 

Now, he thinks— with that voice, and those eyes— Ben could get him to do anything.

 

From across the circle they’ve gathered in Dameron flashes him an easy smile, as if he knows what Hux is thinking; Hux tries to keep from scowling in return. “Your turn, Bren,” Dameron says, using the name that Hux hates, and rolling the bottle toward him. “Last chance— you wanna back out?”

 

“No pressure,” adds Finn, as Rey and Jessika fail to hold back nervous giggles from behind their hands. They’re all looking at Hux with a strange mixture of anxiety and hilarity, as though they’re expecting him to either sulk through it or start throwing up all over the shag carpet they’re kneeling on.

 

He doesn’t care. He’s already had to watch Finn kiss Rey, and Rey kiss Phasma. What’s the worst thing that could happen? He’ll have to make out with one of Ben’s weird friends. Or Ben’s cousin. The chances of it landing on Ben himself— Hux is good at math: one in six, that’s less than seventeen percent, so. Unlikely. It’s unlikely.

 

“Come on, then,” says Hux, jutting out his chin. “I said I’d play, didn’t I?”

 

He steels his nerves. Crooks his wrist. Lets the bottle fly.

 

It flashes crazily under the basement lights— he’s spun it a little harder than he probably should’ve and so it goes on for a long time, spiraling in loopy circles. As it starts to loses momentum Hux’s fingernails curl into his palms; the bottle rim wheels toward Rey, who squeals, and then Finn, who blanches, and then Phasma, who winks, and then.

 

“Oh,” says Ben, sounding very small.

 

The circle explodes in happy laughter. Rey elbows Ben in the side, delighted, Dameron pumps his fist in the air. The noise blurs to a roar in Hux’s ears but he’s almost certain he hears Phasma shout _get him, tiger,_ or something like it.

 

His mouth has gone very dry.

 

“Hux,” says Ben, quietly, hands twisting in his lap. He looks mildly horrified. “You don’t have to.”

 

“Shut up,” Hux snaps. His heart is beating so hard that he starts to worry that Ben will be able to see the pulse of his blood, pumping madly in his throat. “It’ll be quick, we’ll get it over with.”

 

“Rules!” announces Dameron, oblivious to their exchange. “Ben, you’re golden for this one, unless Hux is another long-lost cousin of yours. Hux, you know how it works: seven seconds minimum, go ahead and stick your tongue down his throat.”

 

“You don’t have to,” says Ben, louder this time, flushing all the way down to his neck. “Don’t— don’t make it weird, Poe—”

 

“I said I’d play,” Hux repeats. His fingernails are dug into his skin, now, something jagged cutting into his chest as Ben avoids his eyes. “You should’ve thought this through before you decided to back out, Ben—”

 

“I’m not backing out!”

 

“It’s obvious, just admit—”

 

“Admit what?”

 

“That you don’t want to kiss me—”

 

“No, I wanna—”

 

“—I’ll just spin again if you can’t suck it up and—”

 

“I _want_ to!” Ben shouts, scarlet in the face, and surges forward to fist his hand in Hux’s collar.

 

Hux hadn’t thought that kissing Ben would be so _angry._

 

Upon brief reflection, he isn’t surprised.

 

Ben’s thumbs press up against his neck, and Hux’s hands fly up to grab hold of his ears. And it’s almost soft, swiping tongues and mingling breath but then Hux’s teeth snag on Ben’s lower lip _sharp,_ and Ben lets out a noise that’s thrillingly close to a whimper, and Hux thinks  _oh Jesus, this is happening is this happening oh god_ and he never wants to not be kissing Ben, never wants Ben to not be kissing him, doesn’t want to have to let go of him to breathe, doesn’t want to breathe, but he has to.

 

They both have to.

 

He can feel his ears burning, when he jerks away. Ben’s eyes are still closed, lips still half-parted. The circle has gone dead-quiet.

 

The silence doesn’t last long.

 

“That’s it,” declares Dameron, above the group’s high, half-smothered tittering, “I think you two need to go another round,” and Hux _hates_ them, but also _doesn’t,_ because Ben is yanking him to his feet and dragging him down the hallway and into the dark, white-tiled kitchen— and as soon as they’re out of sight he’s lifting Hux onto the counter, grabbing Hux’s face in his hands, surging up to find his lips again.

 

And it’s all softness, this time. Ben’s mouth wet and warm, Ben sucking on his tongue, Ben letting out puffing, stuttered breaths against his lips. Hux wraps his arms around his neck when he feels Ben’s hands slide up under the hem of his shirt; _how long,_ he thinks, frantically, delirious, wanting to breathe the questions into his mouth, _why didn’t you say. Do you like this, do you like this as much as I like this, do you like me._

 

“Yes,” says Ben, out of breath, lips shiny and red.

 

“Jesus,” says Hux, “fuck,” he hadn’t actually meant to ask.

 

“You like me?” Ben asks him, in return.

 

_“Ben,”_ Hux says, and it’s not an answer, exactly.

 

But when Ben kisses him again, he knows it’s answer enough.


	4. role play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> post-tfa. ren wants to play at normalcy and does it the only way he can imagine how.

 

It’s not the first time Ren has asked him to change his technique in the bedroom, but it is the first time that one of his requests has actually taken Hux by surprise.

 

He’s been more than happy to cater to Ren’s sexual curiosity in the past. While Ren hadn’t come into this exchange of theirs with the most experience, he had come to learn, fairly quickly, what he likes— Hux in control, Hux giving orders. Hux saying _touch yourself,_ saying _look at me,_ saying _no, not yet._ Calling him _whore. Pathetic. You can do better than that, I hope._ Hux listening to him cower and plead and pant, watching the pained pleasure in his eyes when Hux says, _yes._ Says, _Kylo._

 

Sponging the tears from his cheeks afterward, _good boy, clever boy._ Wiping away the blood if he’s drawn any, if Ren’s asked him to draw any. If that’s what Ren wants Hux to do to him.

 

It’s an arrangement that’s been ongoing for months now; Hux plays along because it works. The Knight has far too much fire trapped in him: insecurity, fear, anger— and when he lets Hux draw it out of him, this way? Before it’s had a chance to bubble up beneath the surface, before it can erupt?

 

Ren finds relief. Hux gains pleasure in return, and order. The number of Ren’s temper-tantrum catastrophes taper off. Tensions on the bridge ease up. It’s beneficial, mutually so.

 

He’s never been uncomfortable with what Ren has asked. He’d refuse if he was.

 

But now.

 

But _this._

 

“Come here,” says Ren, softly.

 

He’s slouched on the edge of the bed, having already guided Hux between his legs. Despite the sure-handed way he’s going about it Hux can tell that he’s a little uncertain, after having been the one at Hux’s beck and call for so long. When he pulls Hux down to kiss him the tension between them seems to ebb— the slide of their mouths, at least, is familiar, easy. Hux lets himself sink into the kiss, press against the wet heat of Ren’s tongue; Ren’s hands are making quick work of his coat, his belt, easing down his trousers.

 

It’s going to be ridiculous, Hux thinks, even as he feels his cock stirring, straining against his briefs. It’s going to make him feel ridiculous. There isn’t much else he hates more than humiliation, and he tries to comfort himself with the knowledge that it will be Ren who will pay the price, if it goes sour. Hux has made that clear to him already.

 

It’s true that the Knight has been shaken, lately. Whatever had happened on Starkiller had changed something in him, cracked him to the breaking point. It had taken a long time, for Hux to put him back together. To make him useful again.

 

He wonders, sometimes, if there’s still something broken.

 

“Don’t be nervous,” Ren says, against Hux’s lips, working his way down the front of Hux’s shirt, undoing buttons as he goes.

 

“I’m not,” says Hux. He digs his fingers into Ren’s hair, scratching against Ren’s scalp. “Why would I be? You’re— you’re home now.”

 

The lights of Hux’s cabin are dimmed but he is close enough to see the way Ren’s eyes flicker and brighten, as he feeds into the fantasy. “Yes,” says Ren, eagerly. He runs his hands beneath Hux’s shirt, strips it off, over his head, as Hux lifts his arms. “I was gone for— for so long. How long?”

 

“Um.” _Hells, I don’t know,_ “too long. Weeks.”

 

“A month.” Ren sucks hard at the skin above his collarbone and Hux’s breath quickens, his eyes fluttering closed. “I was working. Smuggling cargo, in the Outer Rim.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“And you stayed here. Planet-side. You’ve been waiting for me, all this time.”

 

“Yes,” Hux says again, “yes, right.”

 

“And you missed me.”

 

“I—”

 

The words catch.

 

Ren gaze is liquid and dark, perplexingly vulnerable. “Hux,” he says, quietly, and quieter, in his head: _please. Just pretend._

 

“I missed you,” Hux says, eyes flickering away, the words almost taboo in his mouth, repeating, “I missed you.”

 

He lowers his gaze to Ren’s chest, pulling at the folds of his robes.

 

“You’re still dressed,” he says, past the tightness of his throat. “Let me— you must be so tired—”

 

Ren is silent. He lets Hux push the cloth of his mantle to his hips, then shuffles back on his knees, to shed the robes entirely. Hux follows, crawling toward him on his hands and knees, raking his eyes over Ren’s body, across the hard lines of his chest, the tight muscle of his stomach, the planes he knows so well.

 

“The job,” Hux says, smoothing his hands flat against Ren’s thighs, resuming his role when he finds his voice again. “Was it very dangerous?”

 

Ren’s fingers twitch on the mattress, like they want to reach for him. He stays where he is. “Very.”

 

“Tell me.”

 

“We were delayed.” Ren’s cock is only half hard but it twitches under Hux’s half-lidded gaze; his voice wavers as Hux reaches for the oil on the bedside and slicks his fingers, slow. “It was— difficult.”

 

“Tell me,” Hux repeats. He rears up on his knees, reaches around his waist to the swell of his ass, seeking. Just one digit pressing up, his hole clenching up as he works it to the knuckle.

 

Ren swallows, watching him, throat bobbing. “Pirates,” he says hoarsely. “They pursued us.”

 

Hux’s eyes fall shut as he adds another finger; the burn lessens slightly as he pushes the rhythm to a smooth glide, sinking back on his heels. “Ren,” he says, the name an exhale. “You were in danger?”

 

“They—” Ren stammers. “They tried to disable the hyperdrive, they—” His voice is breathless, disjointed. When Hux opens his eyes Ren’s gaze is unfocused, his mouth slack, his hand on his own cock, pumping in time to the thrust of Hux’s fingers. “They tried to take out our engines, they tried to stop me from— from coming back to you—”

 

The idea of Ren— _bruising, hulking Ren—_ being hindered by a frigate of pirates is absurd. But this is a different Ren, Hux reminds himself. This is Ren, who has never known the Force. Never known destruction, bloodlust. Never known true power.

 

And this is Hux, who has never wanted to know those things, either.

 

He presses in a third finger. Swallows back the whine that is building in his throat, the hot coil in his belly blazing into something fervent. “I thought of you,” Ren breathes, hand jerking faster over his cock; he presses forward, forehead against Hux’s, close enough that Hux can feel his breath warm and damp against his lips. “I thought of— how you hate it. When I go.”

 

“I do,” Hux groans, rocking back up to his knuckles, twisting up with his wrist. “I hate it, when— when you’re gone.” When Ren is off-ship, when his training demands that he separate himself from Hux’s side, he does hate it, he does. He imagines, if this were real— he’d wait for Ren for months. Helpless, never hearing from him. Not knowing when he might be back, wondering, if something had happened—

 

“Did you do this to yourself,” asks Ren, “did you touch yourself, while I was gone?”

 

“Yes,” he pants. “Ren, yes—”

 

“But it wasn’t the same.” His breath hitches, falters, fist pumping erratically, “Oh, stars, Hux—”

 

“It wasn’t you,” Hux moans. He knows he’s loud, he can’t help it, “Ren, please, it needs to be you, please—”

 

And Ren’s hands are on his hips, then, lifting him. Flipping him onto his back, bracing over him. He surges down as Hux tilts up, crushing their mouths together; Hux’s fingers slip free from his ass but it doesn’t matter, a moment later it’s Ren’s slicked cock bumping into place instead, pressing into him, filling him up.

 

Is this what it would be like, Hux wonders, whimpering as Ren bottoms out and holds there, hands shaking, fisted in the sheets— would it be like this, if the most pressing issue in Hux’s life was Ren, lost somewhere among the stars? _This is what you wanted?_ he wants to ask, clutching at the smooth, shifting muscles of Ren’s back, his fingers digging into Ren’s shoulder-blades, his legs wrapped around Ren’s waist, needing him closer, needing him flush against him. _This is what you want?_

 

Ren goes slowly, Hux’s knees digging into his sides. Thrusts hard, when Hux’s head arches back, when his nails dig into Ren’s skin. His mouth moves soundlessly, lips forming something like Hux’s name, over and over; they come like that, Ren buried between Hux’s thighs, Hux’s cock jammed up against Ren’s belly. One after another, twined together, crying out. Gasping through the aftershocks. Breathing. Breathing.

 

 _What would you have given,_ Hux thinks, wrapped up in the shield of Ren’s arms, sweat cooling his brow and come streaking his stomach, _to truly have that?_

 

 _Anything_ , Ren answers. His hands are trembling, stroking down the nape of Hux’s neck. _Everything_.

 

Hux closes his eyes, feels a shudder ripple through him. _You can’t. We— can’t._

 

 _I know,_ Ren says, _I know._

 

_Once, perhaps._

 

_Not anymore._

 

In another world— another time. Maybe Hux would call Ren by a different name. And Ren would call Hux something else, too, and they would become men like their fathers, but softer. Ren would leave, and Hux would wait, and they would orbit like comets, cooling down and curving back and burning up anew, when they found each other again. Maybe it would be something like that.

 

But here, they will settle for less, and play pretend. 

 

And imagine, behind closed doors, that real freedom is still within their reach.


	5. sleeping in

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> modern day, slightly nsfw, early morning sappy-sweet cuddles

 

Kylo jolts awake at five-thirty in the morning, and the first thing that he notices is the cold. 

 

It had stormed, the night before. The clouds had blown in from the north, icy and dark, cracking lightning through the sky and rattling the warped panes of his tiny apartment windows. And while the early stretches of pale morning light are falling, now, in soft shapes through his curtains, gentle gusts of rain have continued to patter at at the windowpanes, and the chill has stayed, creeping in through the thin-plastered walls.

 

Beside him Hux is shivering, eyes still heavy-lidded and crusted shut with sleep. Kylo gathers him into his arms, rolling so that the comforter wraps snugly around them both, and nuzzles into the nape of his neck, breathing him in, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the notches of his spine.

 

“Mm.” Hux’s voice is muffled. He turns his face into the pillow below his head, light copper-orange hair sticking up in messy tufts. “Ren.”

 

“Sorry,” Kylo breathes out, almost just an exhale, rather than words. His lips brush the crook of Hux’s neck and shoulder. “Did I wake you?”

 

“Uh-huh.” Hux blinks slowly, his words thick with sleep. “Time is'it?“

 

“Half past five.”

 

Hux freezes. Then fumbles over faint curses, turning over in Kylo’s arms and attempting to wriggle, frantically, out of his grip.

 

“Shh,” whispers Kylo, rubbing the heel of his hand over Hux’s back in soothing, repetitive strokes. “Where’re you going?”

 

“Work,” says Hux blearily, his cheek pillow-creased, fighting to keep his eyes open.

 

“No work, Hux. S’weekend.”

 

“I— oh?” He pauses, his nose brushing against the hollow of Kylo’s throat. “Oh, yes. Thank fuck.”

 

He goes limp again, boneless in his relief, letting Kylo’s fingers drag lightly up and down the smooth skin of his forearm. Outside the wind picks up, dragging low whistles through the alleyway perched below their fire escape. Kylo drapes his warm feet over Hux’s ice-block ankles, and kisses the cow-licked hair at his temple. “You’re _cold,_ Hux.”

 

“Water is wet,” mutters Hux, “m’always fucking freezing,” but there’s no venom in it at all. He cranes his head up to capture Kylo’s mouth in a sloppy, stale-breathed kiss, and Kylo sighs, drowsily, against his lips.

 

He loves it, when Hux wakes up slow like this. Slurring together his normally clipped and careful words, melting into Kylo’s touch when Kylo scratches lazy fingers through his hair. Hux rarely allows him to lick into his mouth so easily, doesn’t usually let him cosset him like this, running his free hand underneath his t-shirt to feel the softness of his belly, the ridges of his ribs, the hard-planed line of his sternum. Kylo clips a thumb roughly over the peak of Hux’s nipple and smiles into Hux’s neck, when he feels his breath stutter in his chest; he does it again and Hux jerks against him, the cradle of his hips grinding down against Kylo’s thigh.

 

“You’re hard, too,” Kylo says, kissing the shell of Hux’s ear.

 

Hux presses his nose against Kylo’s jaw. “Yes.”

 

“At five-thirty in the morning.”

 

“Yes,” says Hux again, “well. You’re the one with your thigh jammed up against my cock, aren’t you.”

 

Kylo laughs, a low-throated kind of chuckle that vibrates deep in his belly. “Want me to do something about it?”

 

“Sure,” Hux says, without conviction, a yawn stretching his mouth wide, his eyes crinkling shut for a moment. “Go ahead, have at me; I’ll just lie here, if you don’t mind. Maybe catch another hour of sleep, while you’re busy.”

 

“Shut up,” says Kylo, fondly.

 

“Make me,” answers Hux, burying his face into Kylo’s chest.  

 

But Kylo won’t. They’re both too tired. Too dream-hazed and fuzzy-headed, and the blankets are too soft and warm, and it’s so much easier for Ren’s arms to circle back around Hux’s slim shoulders, to trade sweet kisses and sweeter nothings, and let the rain still skipping across their windowsill lull them back to sleep, than to do anything else at all.


	6. obedience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is a birthday fic for wonderful tumblr user

 

Ren does not think of himself as an obedient man. He is not even particularly loyal, in regards to anyone other than the Supreme Leader. His incapability to quell emotion has amplified over the years of training and solitude, transforming into a stubborn attitude and poor temper. He explodes in front of his troops. He tears apart the very ship he stands upon. The outbursts leave him red-faced, winded, spitting empty threats and petty curses while he wreaks destruction and chaos.

 

In the past— refusing to tame his fury, gripping the humming hilt of his lightsaber, his fingers locked so tight around it that he’d thought the blade would shatter in his fist— he had attempted to convince himself that it wasn’t his fault. That Hux was to blame. And while it is true that Hux has always played a crucial role in the provocation behind the tantrums—

 

It is also Hux who offers him the solution.

 

 

…

 

 

“This is better,” the general says, the first time, his gloved hand on Ren’s throat, Ren’s heartbeat spiking behind his ribs. “This is control, Ren. This will keep you in line.”

 

He squeezes around Ren’s neck. Ren’s anger swells. He thinks of summoning the Force, of ripping Hux apart, limb by limb—

 

Hux clicks his tongue. Like he knows what Ren is thinking. “You need this,” he says, a vicious, pleasured light in his eyes. “Let me do this for you.”

 

“Fine,” Ren grunts, still struggling against Hux’s hold. His voice is weak, and choking, and somehow not his and very much his, all at once. He wants Hux to grip him harder, rougher. “Fine. Yes.”

 

Hux orders him to touch himself; Ren plunges his hand past his robes without a second thought. Takes his cock in his palm and strokes the way he likes, while Hux watches and hums his approval, his fingers still locked around Ren’s throat— and from there time loses meaning, spirals by in a cacophony of pain-pleasure, of Hux telling him _faster_ and smiling, close-lipped, when he obeys.

 

White-hot half-seconds away from spilling, Hux says, _stop._ And Ren does, even though his moans leave his throat like pleas, and his dick throbs red and heavy against his stomach. He is brought almost to tears, writhing under Hux’s grip, begging, Hux’s name breaking to pieces in his mouth, the word _please._

 

And when at last Hux murmurs _all right, go ahead_ _—_ Ren thinks he might die. He is still unused to the touch of others. He is new to this touch entirely. He thinks he might suffocate, not under Hux’s fingers but under the crushing, sobbing relief of release. Under Hux’s praise. Under his own climax.

 

 _Good,_ says Hux, breathlessly, only one hand on Ren’s throat now, the other shoved beneath the waistline of his own pants, pumping messily. _That was _—_ so good, Kylo, you did so good—_

 

Ren has never kissed anyone before. He would, now, watching Hux come undone. If he wasn’t being good. If he wasn’t doing as Hux says.

 

Hux’s whole body jerks. He cries out, trembling all over, burying his face in the crook of Ren’s neck, and Ren wonders, for the first time, what Hux’s lips would feel like, against his.  

 

 

…

 

 

It doesn’t stop there, although perhaps it should. 

 

It happens again. And again after that, and then a fourth time, and somewhere down the line, Ren stops counting.

 

He obeys, instead. He crawls on his hands and knees across the floor of Hux’s cabin, and presses his open mouth to the smooth polish of Hux’s boots. He lets the heel of those boots rest against his chest, his windpipe. He lets Hux tell him when to come, and how.

 

He undresses with Hux’s eyes on him.

 

He redresses as Hux steps into the refresher, and leaves before he comes out again.

 

Sometimes Hux touches him; sometimes he doesn’t. Ren likes the times that he does, better than the other times, but he keeps his mouth shut. He pretends that the words _good_ and _yes_ and _Kylo_ are touches of their own, stroking their way through Ren’s hair, thumbing across Ren’s cheek. Over his lips.

 

Ren doesn’t ever kiss him.

 

Hux never asks for that.

 

Sometimes Ren wants— Hux’s boots. His indifference. And his sharp commands, and _careful,_ giving way to praise. Giving way to _Kylo._ Sometimes Ren wants all of this, everything.

 

More often, he’s found, all he really wants is Hux.

 

Just Hux, himself.

 

 

…

 

 

He has never thought of himself as an obedient man, and he still doesn’t, not even as he follows Hux through the Finalizer’s corridors, trotting close on his heels. Hux is taking him back to his rooms; Ren is already half-hard in his pants, because tonight.

 

Tonight, he had been _good._

 

The Order had hosted a banquet and Ren was _good,_ so good, extraordinarily good. He had been pleasant, and quiet, and spoke only when spoken to. He’d stayed his hand from his saber even when he itched to instill fear in the eyes of those who doubted their influence. He had remained unmoved— and _silent—_ when one of the guests, drunk enough to be bold, had stood before him, grinning, and mocked him. Mocked the Knights. The power of the Force.

 

It is only when they reach the familiar safety of Hux’s cabin that Ren realizes that Hux is—

 

_Dissatisfied._

 

He yanks off his mask, wounded. “Aren’t you pleased,” he says, hurt, demanding, “I did as you asked. The way you instructed.”

 

Hux sighs, rolling a tense shoulder; Ren fights back the longing that rises in him, the urge to reach out, and pluck the explanation from his mind. He isn’t supposed to. Hux has forbidden it. He’s not allowed to look into Hux’s thoughts, no matter how tantalizing it has been while being held at his mercy, no matter how frustrating it is to have silence instead of answers, now.

 

The general leans against the starboard window, forearm braced against the glass, and although Ren desists from reading his mind he can feel the anxiety rolling from him in waves, thick and stifling. “You did everything right,” Hux says to the galaxies, sounding as distant as they are. “Thank you, Ren.”

 

“Was I not—” He flushes at the thought, heat creeping into his ears. “Was I—” _Good. Not good, not good enough._

 

“That Senator,” says Hux. Quiet, like he’s talking to himself, and not to Ren. “From the banking clan.”

 

“Who?”

 

“The Muun—” Hux gestures with his free hand, the slope of his back stiff and bent in his discomfort. “He said _—_ that you were a joke. That your power, your Force, was little more than a children’s story.”

 

“Yes,” Ren says, not understanding.

 

Hux looks at him over his shoulder and his pale eyes are raw. Exposed, somehow, caught beneath the ray field of Ren’s focus. “You didn’t correct him.”

 

“You didn’t ask me to.”

 

“It’s not about me,” Hux says, sounding irritated, now, but distraught, too. “He insulted you, didn’t you want to— to, I don’t know. Make him answer to you. Hurt him?”

 

“Of course.”

 

“Then why—”

 

“You didn’t want me to,” Ren says.

 

“I told you this _isn’t_ about me, I—”

 

Hux pushes back from the viewport and his feedback— the aura around him— it is brilliant. Radiating. Burning him up, like Starkiller’s sun, like Starkiller’s lasers.  

 

“I never meant,” Hux says, haltingly, saying more in his pauses than he has ever said in his words. “I never wanted— to cage you, Kylo.”

 

They had tested those lasers, Ren remembers. Two day-cycles ago, on some uninhabited moon. Hux’s coattails had blown out behind him, in Starkiller’s winds; Ren had watched him come alive, as his weapon fired.

 

 _First, this,_ Hux had said, a feral-sweet smile touching the corners of his mouth. _Next, the Republic._

 

 _And then the galaxy,_ Ren had added, and Hux laughed and Ren’s dark eyes caught, and fixed on Hux’s pale ones, and as his laughter echoed across the snow drifts, the moon crumbled. A cold thing, unbreakable. Turned to rubble. Turned to fire, and ash.

 

Here in Hux’s rooms, with the stars mapped out behind them, Ren watches Hux crumble in just the same way.

 

 

…

 

 

They fall together gently this time. Almost too gentle, for the men that they are. Hux doesn’t give commands and Ren doesn’t ask for any. He lies on his back and Hux braces over him: moves in him, with him, limbs tangling and bodies arching toward each other, Hux holding Ren’s face between his palms, Ren’s legs hooked around the back of Hux’s thighs. 

 

Ren says _Hux_ and feels something come loose, a broken part, ripped from its cables. Hux says _Kylo_ and stammers through the syllables, like the name is a jammed blaster, slipping through his hands. 

 

 _Kylo,_ he says again, forehead pressed to Ren’s, his fingers trembling, where they brush over Ren’s mouth.

 

When his voice cracks, Kylo pulls him closer.

 

They lay together, afterward, beneath the thick quilts of Hux’s bed. Hux’s cheek is pressed against Ren’s chest; Ren’s arms encircle the thin, narrow curve of his body in return. He can feel Hux’s breath on his skin, puffing gently with every exhale. He thinks, if he tries, he can feel Hux’s hearbeat, thudding gently in his chest. He thinks, if he listens, he could hear it, too. Steady, and soft.

 

So much softer, than he’d imagined.

 

“Wake me at 0400,” mumbles Hux, huddling closer.

 

Ren kisses his hair. “Is that an order?” he asks, kissing his temple, now. His eyebrow. Over his eyelid.

 

“Mmm,” says Hux. “Kylo. You keep missing.”

 

He tips his head back, and meets Ren’s lips with his own.

 

 

…

 

 

Ren wakes with Hux’s nose pressed up against his jaw, and Hux’s arm tucked over his waist.

 

It takes his eyes a moment to adjust. He blinks slowly in the darkness, feeling Hux’s breath hot on his throat. The small blinking numbers on the console beside the bed read _0415._ Hux will be expected on the bridge in less than an hour.

 

Ren drags a hand through Hux’s hair, messy, tousled. He runs a thumb over Hux’s cheek, pillow-creased, exhausted.

 

Then he pulls the covers up, and curls, more tightly, around him.

 

The galaxy, he decides, can wait.


	7. unworthy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this was supposed to be part of the _fic i won't write_ meme

 

Hux reminds Ren that he is ugly every time they fuck.

 

Tonight he is laughing, braced over Ren’s hips, tipping his chin up in a gesture of tender mockery and cruel partiality. He drapes himself across Ren’s back, rolling his hips against Ren’s ass and when Ren tilts his face sideways to kiss him, Hux shudders, and smirks into his mouth, and says, with all the derision of indifference, _oh, kriffing hell, just look at you._

 

It should be a trivial thing and Ren tries to pretend as though it doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter, for all of his bloodthirsty nature— but to his embarrassment, the comments begin to crawl beneath his skin. 

 

And _ache._

 

_What are you?_ Hux asks, with the Knight on his knees in front of him. He grips Ren’s cheek in one hand and turns his face, as if to see it better, to study it like he would a foreign specimen, to understand how and why. _Whatever did I do,_ he continues, _to end up with a creature like you?_

 

The pad of his thumb swipes across the bridge of Ren’s nose and Ren closes his eyes, to block out whatever expression Hux is wearing. _I’m sorry,_ he says, mournful, _I wish I was better,_ he adds, in Hux’s head, too ashamed to admit it out loud.

 

_What?_ says Hux, brow furrowing. _What do you—_

 

Ren takes Hux’s cock into his mouth before anything more can be said, and pretends that Hux’s moans mean more than they do.

 

 

…

 

 

Hux is beautiful and made of stone and snow, too-pale skin always tinged blue with exhaustion, icy eyes edged with tired red lines. He is like a sculpture, like the ones that had decorated the smooth marble walls of Nubian palaces, the ones Ren should not remember from a childhood he has tried too hard to bury.

 

Ren doesn’t look anything like that. His nose is too large for his face. His ears stretch out almost comically, no matter how hard he tries to keep them hidden beneath his hair. His mouth is odd, wide, voice inanely deep and rough against the softness of his features. His skin is marred with old scars and dark moles. He made the mask for a reason. He uses the mask for a reason.

 

He is painfully aware that Hux could take almost anyone on board to bed. He is waiting for the day when Hux will realize this, too.

 

In his rooms Hux sighs, his hands in Ren’s hair, Ren’s tongue skilled and warm and Ren’s too-big-nose buried between his thighs, and Ren looks up at the wire frame of Hux’s body through his lashes and thinks, _oh,_ he feels, _well,_ and Hux says _yes, gods, you whore, you animal, who could’ve guessed a brute like you would be any good at this._

 

The next time Hux calls for him, he wears his mask.

 

 

…

 

 

He keeps it on when Hux tells him to disrobe, and the general chuckles at first. Makes an offhand comment about the bedroom routines they haven’t tried. He reaches for Ren, one gloved hand on his bare ass and the other sliding up to press at the release latches on the helmet and Ren jerks back, knocks his hand away, keeps it on.

 

Hux huffs. Scolds him: _I’m not fucking a machine, last time I checked, for hell’s sake, Ren, take the damn thing off._

 

But still he doesn’t. He hurries to brace himself over Hux’s bed instead, on his hands and knees, ass in the air, facing the headboard. Waiting for Hux’s touch to soothe, and Hux’s words to sting. _Ren,_ says Hux, the mattress shifting as he sits on the edge, and runs a hand up Ren’s calf. _Take off the mask. And turn over._

 

Ren feels himself flush in bright, horrid patches, from the tips of his ears to his chest. _Why._

 

_Because—_ Hux flushes, too, although it’s most likely with anger, and not shame. _I shouldn’t need to explain myself to you. Turn over._

 

He does, and sick self-pity rises almost immediately in his throat. Hux touches him again, fingers flat over his chest, _If I take it off,_ Ren mutters, gut turning over, _you’ll have to look at me._

 

_Yes, well. That’s quite the point._

 

_You can fuck me on my stomach._

 

_Don’t be dense,_ snaps Hux. _I want you on your back._

 

Behind the helmet Ren’s eyes flicker to his chest. Up to his chin. To meet his gaze. _But I’m not,_ he starts. _I’m— horrid_.

 

Hux’s eyes widen, a fraction of an inch.

 

_Ren,_ he says. _Ren, oh, hells._

 

And one last time:

 

_Take off the mask._

 

Ren swallows, audible through the distorted grain of the vocoder. He grips both sides between his palms, pulls it over his head with the accompanying hiss. Sets it aside.

 

_There,_ Hux says, tucking a dark strand of hair behind one enormous ear. _That wasn’t so hard, was it._

 

He allows Ren to still his shaking hands in undressing him, shedding layer after layer until his thin, lean body is laid bare, and they kiss like that for a while, Hux naked in Ren’s lap, Ren’s cock stiffening against his belly. But when Ren starts to whine and pant and moan, his dick grinding up against Hux’s, Hux pulls back. Fumbles for the oil, tugs Ren out of bed, into the refresher—

 

And presses him into the countertop across from the mirror.

 

Then slicks two greased fingers into him from behind.

 

He ducks his chin, gasping, Hux forces it back up, _look._ He blushes hot, humiliated, eyes screwed shut, and Hux says, _open them, look._

 

Ren’s skin is mottled scarlet, expression slack with pleasure. His eyes are unfocused, glazed over, wide mouth half-open, almost drooling as he pushes his hips back on Hux’s crooked fingers; his dick is throbbing, flushed and leaking over the counter. He looks— he looks nothing but ruined. Wrecked, entirely.

 

_I did that to you,_ whispers Hux, mouth on his ear, working him open, hitting just right inside of him, three fingers now. _I’m doing that to you, what you see is my work, mine._

 

Ren groans, something close to Hux’s name. Hux’s other hand finds his throat, keeping his head in place against Hux’s shoulder, blazing eyes locked on Ren’s in the mirror.

 

_You think what I do to you is horrid?_ he demands, hand thrusting steadily; with a blurring vision Ren sees his reflection writhing against Hux, whiting-out every time Hux’s fingers twist up. _You think I’d waste my time on something— anything— less than perfect?_

 

_No,_ Ren stammers, _never,_ he pleads. Half out of his mind with pleasure he starts rubbing up against the edge of the counter, his hips snapping forward helplessly, needing the friction. _Hux,_ he babbles. _Hux—_

 

_Come like this,_ says Hux. _Only on my fingers. Lovely creature, you beautiful boy—_

 

When he does he spills hard, and everywhere: over the counter, and on his chest, crying out shamelessly loud— in the come-striped mirror his reflection is deliriously boneless, but Hux’s fingers continue to pump into him, without restraint or reserve. Ren’s voice cracks and jumps an octave; he shudders, mewls, begs and comes a second time within minutes, cock pulsing, thin tears dripping from the corners of his eyes.

 

He sags against the counter when he’s been milked completely dry, his whole body trembling as the jerk of Hux’s wrist finally, blessedly slows, and his fingers withdraw.

 

_I never want to hear that from you again,_ says Hux softly, one arm hooking around Ren’s waist, mouthing the words against his shoulder. _Do you hear me?_

 

Their eyes meet in the smudged glass, and Ren shivers. _What if I don’t remember,_ he says, in Hux’s mind, _what if I forget._

 

Hux leans forward, and sucks a bruise into his throat.

 

_Then we’ll come back here,_ he murmurs, when the skin has purpled. _And I’ll remind you._


End file.
